Poetry 170: Ambiguous Loss Part II

Ambiguous Loss Part II

 

“Absence and presence are not absolutes.”

-Pauline Boss, Ph.D.

 

Though not logical,

because I still carry

a 1978 photo of her—the one

with the blue eye shadow

and the flower-print skirt—

in the back of my wallet,

but when another

Pacific-size wave

of gut-wrenching grief

swells over me yet again,

it still comes as if 

from out of the blue. 

I am always

so unprepared.

 

Especially when the

time-lapse between

the last ripples that

barely covered my feet or

the latest tsunami

that took me out for weeks

have grown a little longer.

 

Or perhaps it is

because I have 

consciously, unconsciously, 

turned my back again

on those sorrow-filled

waters in the understandable 

yet futile effort to

try to look forward;

the downside of which

always comes when 

the unbearable weight of water

soaks me through

to the bone, leaving both

surprise and disappointment.

 

Surprise because that grown,

and dare I say healed

part of me, has learned

to actively live her

present-day life

with both vigor and delight.

 

Disappointment because

that eternal child-like part of

me continues to magically wish

this pain would finally

cease to exist, and

never, ever, return.

 

But that’s not how

ambiguous loss works,

does it?

 

Unlike the finality of death,

ambiguous loss can

seductively fade into the

shadows of existence and

nightmares where you

find a rhythm of complacency

masquerading as peace. 

But then, the grief

sneaks up behind you and 

not-so-subtlety dumps

an entire bucket of freezing

cold water right over the

top of your head,

causing you to shake and tremble 

as she mocks you

because decades later

you ridiculously continue

to believe that

1 + 1 will equal 2,

when you know,

you know, that never

was the case- at least

not in your experience.

 

But here’s the thing,

you also know,

in that wise sort of

deep-down-in-the-core

-of-your-being kind of knowing,

that, as Robert Frost wrote,

the way out is through.

 

And that, paradoxically,

living with ambiguous loss

likely begins with befriending

and embracing her, not

denying and rejecting.

 

Though I must candidly admit,

even as I write these very words,

I hear a voice inside

my head saying:

easier said then done my friend.

Especially with her warm flesh,

in cold, cruel reality,

still living less than

15 minutes from

my own doorstep.

 

Nonetheless, here we are.

 

This is the dilemma.

This is the challenge.

This is ambiguous loss.

 

-Me

Notes From Mindful Self-Compassion: The Relative & The Absolute

It’s 3 in the morning, and with another bout of insomnia, I’m looking out at the night sky.

Not a terrible way to spend my time, but to be clear, I’d rather be sound asleep right now.

(Especially when I’m due at work in 5 1/2 hours!)

But given the sleepless circumstances, it is a more accepting way to peacefully co-exist with my periodic insomnia (bothersome though it may be) as opposed to the futile act of resisting the inevitable tossing and turning in bed next to my fitfully sleeping family.

Some might call this effort of mine: "Self Compassion in Everyday Life," 'which is actually something my Mindful Self-Compassion teacher, Christine, has been trying to instill in me and the other 26 students in our 10-Week Online MSC course.

And just to make a little bit of lemon aid out of lemons, it also offers a way for me to balance and tolerate the ebb and flow of the relative and the absolute of this small human life in the context of an inconceivably vast cosmos, when on this night, it is the relative that keeps me awake:

• me or my family getting COVID-19,
• the school shutting down due to COVID-19,
• the Supreme Court vacancy,
• my daughter’s difficulty reading,
• the estrangement from my family of origin,
• the lumps in my husbands abdomen,
• the uncomfortable email exchange with a colleague yesterday,
• etc., etc.

Because you see, it under the Universe of stars, that the absolute is my balm.

So I gather a soft blanket around my shoulders, quietly tip toe through the house to avoid waking my family on the creaky wood floorboards, open the slider to the back deck, step out, and look up and out upon the infinite.

Then, as my mind wanders back to its list of worries—as it does within seconds even under that magnificent wonder of galactic size and beauty—I repeat the words attributed to the 14th century Christian mystic and first known female writer in the English language, Julian of Norwich, who wrote:

All shall be well. And all shall be well. And all manner of thing shall be well.

Or, in the words of a more modern spiritual mystic, American author Annie Dillard in her 1999 book For the Time Being:

There is no one here but us chickens, and so it has always been: a people busy and powerful, knowledgeable, ambivalent, important, fearful, and self-aware; a people who scheme, promote, deceive, and conquer; who pray for their loved ones, and long to flee misery and skip death...There never was a more holy age than ours, and never a less.

May I take these words into my heart so that I may bear the relative in the midst of the ever present absolute.

May you as well.

Poetry 169: Small

Small

 

I’ve trained myself

to be invisible.

 

Over and over again.

 

Because if you are

too this or too that

they will crush you.

 

The trick is to likable

but forgettable-

not an easy tight

rope to walk

to be sure.

 

To share enough

but not too much.

 

You must show you

are listening, but

not demanding or

commanding any attention

for yourself.

 

And what you do share,

MUST not outshine

the others. So you

choose your words

ridiculously wisely.

 

Something that contributes,

but in no way suggests

I am any more

than average. In no way

suggests I am any bigger

than my small self.

 

It’s exhausting.

 

And it’s sad.

The way I contort

my body and mind into

a pretzel shape

so that the other person

does not feel uncomfortable

in any way.

 

I wish I could

be brave enough

to just be.

To speak when

I want to speak.

To share when I

have something to

contribute.

To live fully and wholly.

 

But I don’t.

 

I stay small and

polite in my

little box so others

can continue to feel

bigger, smarter, stronger,

more-than me.

 

Does that make me less-than?

 

I know it doesn’t.

And some day,

some day,

I will find my freedom.

I will find my voice.

 

-Me

Poetry 168: On My Birthday

To live is so startling,

it leaves but little room

for other occupations...

~Emily Dickinson~

On My Birthday

 

I’ve been visiting

here for exactly 43

years today, and

I’m still just scratching

the surface.

 

(What length of time

would be enough

you think?)

 

The oldest person to

ever live in my family

died in her 86th year,

so I figure

I’m either half-way through

this trip or something a

little (or a lot) shorter.

 

Which means,

if this were a marathon

(which I’d be walking

because I don’t run),

I guess I’d be at mile 13.1-

finally hitting my stride.

 

(Did it take me too long

you think?)

 

Not long ago

I met a Vietnam Veteran

who at 79 decided

he needed to talk

with a therapist

for the first time

in his life to

“sort some things out.”

 

Man, I thought,

I had to start that

process in the womb...

 

Nevertheless, I’ve met

some wonderful people

along the way.

Kind, loving, honest.

 

And, I’ve met some

really shitty people too.

Mean, cold-hearted, gas lighters.

 

Yet all the while,

I continue to thank god

for bringing me here;

even if

I’m not sure

I’d want to do it

all over again.

 

(Is that wrong to say

you think?)

 

It's just that,

to be honest,

I do find living on earth

to be pretty hard at times.

Not this exact moment

per se, but in general,

yes, yes I do.

 

Still, I do love the children;

mine and all others.

And the music-

the music is wonderful.

And the clouds...

all those gorgeous formations

against that sea blue sky- brilliant!

 

Yes, there is so much

to see and hear and touch

and smell and taste

on this unlikely funny little

blue and green sphere

that spins through

the universe.

 

I will try to make

the most of it.

I will.

 

-Me

Poetry 167: Undo Yourself

Undo Yourself

 

Peel back all the forms

that tell you who you

think you are.

 

Liberate yourself 

from the

identities and labels

that the world 

assigned you in this

surreal experience

we call life.

 

Release yourself from

the containers that

at one time may have

felt so good, but now,

now,

limit the expansive wholeness

that is our birthright.

 

Open yourself to the

spacious wonder of

raw, unstructured sensation,

and undo yourself.

 

Then, you may

drop in to the You,

before there was a you,

and the Me,

before there was a me.

-Me

Poetry 166: Spiritual Evolution

Spiritual Evolution

Am.

I am.

I am somebody.

I am nobody.

I am everybody.

I am.

Am.

-Me

Spiritual Virtues Part I: Wisdom

As I try to process all of the rapidly unfolding events of the past week in the United States, I was reminded of this wonderful definition of wisdom that I encountered in a book called, Teaching Mindful Self-Compassion Program by Christopher Germer and Kristin Neff:

Wisdom: understanding the complexity of a situation and seeing our way through it.

Amidst a global pandemic and a national awakening of white people in the United States to the institutionalized and systematized racism in our justice system that culminated in the murder or George Floyd by 4 Minneapolis police officers on Memorial Day, May 25, 2020, it seems more than ever, we are in grave need of spiritual virtues in this world including: wisdom.

And, thankfully, wisdom can be cultivated.

One tried and true way to develop a spiritual virtue, is to seek out role models who generously exemplify the very virtue that we wish to cultivate, so that the rest of us can continue to evolve into our best human selves by following the guidance of those who have gone before us.

So for me, when I wish to stretch and grow in wisdom in order to “understand the complexity of a situation and see my way through it” (like I do right now during a global pandemic, record unemployment in the US, and a potential civil rights revolution), I quickly turn to the American Civil Rights leader Dr. Martin Luther King Jr (b. 1929-1968) and the Vietnamese Buddhist teacher and monk Thich Nhat Hanh (b. 1926).

These two “giants,” as they are often called, actually met each other in both 1966 and 1968 before Dr. King was assassinated on April 4, 1968, and they shared a common vision for a "beloved community" that was even commemorated in a beautiful statue that rests in Magnolia Grove Monastery in Mississippi.

But in addition to a shared vision for humanity that is both realistic and hopeful, they also shared an ability to artfully articulate with words how their respective hard-won wisdom could be understood by others.  

Through a legacy of speeches, books, letters, poems, and/or essays, each of them has left us with a path to follow, should we wish to, in order to cultivate our own humble wisdom.

Below, I have shared just a handful of nuggets from the gold mine of each wisdom-teacher that have spoken to me during these last few days, and perhaps these, or others, may speak to you as well.

May Peace & Justice Be in Your Heart,

Claire

Words of Wisdom by Dr. Martin Luther King:

"True peace is not merely the absence of tension; it is the presence of justice."
Stride Toward Freedom, 1958

"I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant."
Nobel Peace Prize acceptance speech, Oslo, Norway, 1964.

"If we are to have peace on earth, our loyalties must become ecumenical rather than sectional. Our loyalties must transcend our race, our tribe, our class, and our nation; and this means we must develop a world perspective."
Christmas sermon, Atlanta, Georgia, 1967.

"Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly."
Letter from Birmingham, Alabama jail, April 16, 1963.

"I have the audacity to believe that peoples everywhere can have three meals a day for their bodies, education and culture for their minds, and dignity, equality, and freedom for their spirits."
Nobel Peace Prize acceptance speech, Oslo, Norway, 1964

"The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of convenience and comfort, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy."
Strength to Love, 1963.

"We must come to see that the end we seek is a society at peace with itself, a society that can live with its conscience."
Montgomery, Alabama, March 25, 1965.

Words of Wisdom by Thich Nhat Hanh or “Thay” which means “Teacher:”

The Fruit of Awareness is Ripe

My youthful years,

a green unripe plum.
Your teeth left a mark on it
which turned into a tiny wound.
Your teeth shuddered at their roots,
and always remember it,
always remember it.

But when I knew how to love

the door of my heart opened wide before the wind.
Reality was calling out for revolution.
The fruit was already ripe.
That door
could never be closed again.

Fire,
fire consumes this century,
leaving its mark on the uninhabited mountains
and forests.
The wind howls past my ears.
The snowstorm writhes in the sky.
The wounds of winter lie there, unable to forget
the cold steel blade,
restless, tossing and turning,
smarting,
in the deep night.

-Call Me By My True Names

“There is no phenomenon in the universe that does not intimately concern us, from a pebble resting at the bottom of the ocean, to the movement of a galaxy millions of light years away.

All phenomena are interdependent. When we think of a speck of dust, a flower, or a human being, our thinking cannot break loose from the idea of unity, of one, of calculation…If we truly realize the interdependent nature of the dust, the flower, and the human being, we see that unity cannot exist without diversity. Unity and diversity interpenetrate each other freely. 

Unity is diversity, and diversity is unity.”

-The Sun My Hearth

“The ocean of suffering is immense, but if you turn around, you can see the land.”

“Even while you have pain in your heart, you can enjoy the many wonders of life—the beautiful sunset, the smile of a child, the many flowers and trees. To suffer is not enough. Please don’t be imprisoned by your suffering…If you dwell only in your suffering, you will miss paradise. Don’t ignore your suffering, but don’t forget to enjoy the wonders of life, for your sake and for the benefit of many beings.”

“The Buddha called suffering a Holy Truth, because your suffering has the capacity of showing us the path to liberation. Embrace your suffering, and let it reveal to you the way to peace.”

-The Heart of the Buddha’s Teaching

Poetry 165: Taking Refuge: The Fourth Jewel

Taking Refuge: The Fourth Jewel

Dear Mary,

I went into the woods today

because I wanted to

commune with you,

my grandmother’s copy of Whitman,

and the 4 grey herons who

promptly took flight

the very moment I arrived.

This time of year—I bet

you will appreciate this little detail—

in mid-spring, New England,

the baby maple leaves

have just blossomed into

a canopy of treetops that is

this totally fantastic shade of technicolor

lime-green; it looks like nature’s own

manifestation of joy

that even the most melancholic person

must bow to with a slight smile.

It’s mornings like these

that I think of nature, the wilderness,

as my own fourth Jewel.

A place where I can take refuge

from a human world that

often feels like too damn

much to bear.

I’ve often wondered 
over the years

if you ever felt the same

when you were skipping

school in Ohio, or later in adulthood

when you wandered the dunes of the Cape.

I like to think I’m not the only one.

-Me

Spiritual Lessons from Nature Part XVII: Interdependence

(photo by me from the Cherry tree in my front yard this spring)

If you have come here to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.

-Attributed to Lilla Watson, Indigenous Australian, in a 1985 UN Speech in Nairobi

It would seem a global pandemic of COVID-19 would be a good time to remind myself of this truth from the natural world.

Poetry 164: A Prayer for Emptiness

A Prayer for Emptiness

(photo by me from New England woods)

Each step I take
allows another layer
of protection to
fall away.

And the more I lose,
carves a deeper, more
luxurious space inside.

(Maybe, one day,
the whole world can 
drop in.)

Adversity builds character.
So they say.
But does it, 
really?

I’ve seen character harden
into habit that 
becomes impenetrable-
for life.

Perhaps though, with intention,
adversity can actually deconstruct
character instead.

Like the sharp edges
of sea glass smoothed
out after decades in an
unsympathetic ocean,
all of our unhelpful thoughts
patterns and behaviors 
that once kept us in 
an invisible prison,
might disintegrate into
mere specks of sand;
leaving a majestic internal canyon 
just large enough to 
feel the whole entire thing-
with a smile.

My dear Mother, 
please empty me out entirely.
I want to taste the freedom & joy
of a free-wheeling generosity and compassion
that comes when I no longer
need to maintain
that compelling story of Me.

Please, 
let Me go.

Let me fly.

-Me

Poetry 163: Being Human

Being Human

Do you know what it’s like

to be unable to breathe

when that which is most

precious is lost forever?

Yes, I do.

Do you know what it’s like

to wake up in the middle

of the night completely

terrified that everything is

just about to fall to pieces?

Oh yes.

Do you know what it’s like

to mourn something that

has never actually been,

and is unlikely to ever be?

Unfortunately, yes.

How about what it’s like

to just want one, brief moment

of sanity to just catch your breath

before the next move?

Absolutely.

So then, let me ask you something.

Okay.

Who are you?

Human.

-Me

Poetry 162: Flowing Seamlessly

Flowing Seamlessly

The dusty gray clouds

parted for the

briefest of moments today-

just enough time for a slim

ray of sunlight to slip

right through.

Through my new large

office window, right

above the entrance of

a hospital, where families

rush inside to get the most terrible

news of their most beloved.

Beloved father, mother,

partner, child,

grandparent, & best friend.

All that invisible glue and

intangible love that organizes

our ridiculously messy lives.

Lives surrounded by tigers

who stand on the edges of

the cliff where we hang off

the side, all the while

eating a luscious

strawberry.

Lives built upon fragility, vulnerability,

uncertainty, and of course,

death.

Death of this moment,

and then the next.

Flowing seamlessly, beauty

upon terror, terror upon

beauty. Beginning to end,

end to beginning.

Look, the sunlight is

camouflaged once more.

Once more.

-Me

Poetry 161: Gratitude in This Very Moment

I don’t speak of the gift, because not for everything that’s given to you can you really be grateful. You can’t be grateful for war in a given situation, or violence, or sickness, things like that.

So the key, when people ask, “Can you be grateful for everything?” — no, not for everything, but in every moment.

Brother David Steindl-Rast, 2015

Gratitude in This Very Moment

The shadowy beauty of dawn and dusk

This extra hot cup of coffee in my right hand

The way my son still holds a hug longer that I think he will

Gentle kisses from my not-quite 2 year-old kitty who still gets into all kinds of mischief

The ability to afford takeout on a Friday night

Anything by Henri Nouwen

Super soft blankets tucked in tight under my chin at bedtime

Wild turkeys causing traffic during the morning commute

Hurt transforming into wisdom

The way technology still allows me to see your sweet face

Caring for my own body in an extended rag doll until the release comes

This quiet moment right here

-Me

P.S. Okay, now it is your turn. What are you grateful for in this very moment right here? A tip, don't force it. Just open, and see what is already there.

Poetry 160: Legacy

Legacy

They say in the rooms

that hurt (adjective) people,

hurt (verb) people.

In the case of my mother,

and her mother before her,

nothing could be

more true.

You see,

my mother was never

able to figure out

how to not hate me-

even though,

in her best moments

I think she really wanted to.

But how does one

who lives in a constant

state of lost and confused,

ever find a pathway to kindness?

A wise, 84 year-old

American JewBu once said:

“When we are confused,

we forget to be kind.

When we are not confused,

we remember to be kind.”

I truly hope to remember.

But intergenerational family

patterns of hardwired hurt

can make DNA disassembly

feel next to impossible at times.

And oddly, it is even seen

by some local insiders

as disloyal to fathom breaking

a toxic legacy

that has left so many casualties

in a state of chronic heartbreak.

But then, remarkably,
I find myself

gazing down into the round,

blue eyes of my own

6 year-old daughter

as she engineers her newest invention

out of duct tape and recycled paper towel rolls,

and I know for absolute certain,

the spell has finally been broken.

-Me

Poetry 159: When I Grow Up

When I Grow Up

“How do we practice with difficulty, with our emotions, with the unpredictable encounters of an ordinary day?...[How can] this ‘I’ who wants to find security—who wants something to hold on to—finally learn to grow up.”                     

-Pema Chodron from The Places That Scare You

When I grow up,

I will stop the futility

of forcing

people to love me.

When I grow up,

I will stop wearing

bras & other uncomfortable

clothes that are too small

for my body.

When I grow up,

I’ll remember & accept

that every precious

(and not-so precious) experience

will come to an end.

When I grow up,

I will rightly think of

my body as the ally

that it unquestionably is.

When I grow up,

I will properly accept the possibility

for greed, hatred &

ignorance in humanity,

but I won’t despair

about it.

When I grow up,

I’ll let people love me

all the way.

When I grow up,

I will interrupt

unfunny jokes

and other unkind remarks

that demean others.

When I grow up,

I won’t worry about

work when I am

not actually at work.

When I grow up,

I will stop clinging

to people who let

go of me.

When I grow up,

I’ll stop gossiping

about others when they

are not there to

defend themselves.

When I grow up,

I will appropriately let go of

long-held, bitter resentments

that take away from the

quality of my own life.

When I grow up,

I will know that

I truly do have

enough.

When I grow up,

I’ll let the mystery be

a real thing that

I don’t ever need

to figure out.

When I grow up,

I will justly sense

my place and value

on this earth

every single day.

When I grow up,

I will finally reconcile

the inherent inequality

conceived in the

lottery of birth.

When I grow up,

I’ll allow my ego

to ride shotgun for once,

and let my soul

take the wheel.

When I grow up,

I will still experience

some embarrassment

for my mistakes & short-comings,

but, I will no longer allow

my mistakes & short-comings

to define me.

When I grow up,

I will see the lovely humanity

of every person

I speak to-

even those who

vote differently than I do.

When I grow up,

I’ll definitely floss & dance more.

And when I do finally grow up,

I will most certainly,

never again doubt,

the way you and me are

precisely one-and-the-same.

-Me

P.S. Now I invite you to go out and write your very own...Here, I'll start you off: "When I grow up..."